


Turning Point

by Ruriska



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Play, Dracula Reaper, M/M, Smut, Van Helsing McCree, Witch Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, a cock gets blood on it in a sexy way and if you aren't into that please walk away, just for a moment, there's no smut in the first chapter, vampire, vampire stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-01-30 07:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12648723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruriska/pseuds/Ruriska
Summary: Imprisoned and waiting for death, the hunter receives help from an unexpected source.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo! I wanted to do this for halloween but I've had a writing dry spell and I only just finally got this out, and then immediately decided I wanted to do a follow-up smut chapter. That'll happen whenever it happens, for now, enjoy the set up!

At least he could see the moon.

That was Jesse McCree’s only consolation as he peered up through the bars of his prison, the high window, and beyond it the ink black sky dominated by a just waning moon. The pale light was enough to see the outline of his jail cell, allowed him only the slightest details of the dark stone and his legs stretched out in front of him. He felt heavy, the drugs they’d administered moving sluggishly through his veins and weighing him down. 

They hadn’t bothered to chain him, trusting in that drug. If it hadn’t been effective, he would have been out of here a long time ago and they knew it. The mechanical hand that had replaced the flesh many years ago was more than capable of crushing a flimsy chain. They checked on him periodically, guards, the town mayor and the priest. They came to gloat, the torchlight harsh after the soft moon glow.

‘You die in the morning, hunter.’ 

The Alchemist was gonna be mad as heck, he figured. Once she found out what the villagers had used her concoction for. 

McCree tried to shift, the cold of the stone wall bleeding into his back but even that was too much of an effort. He’d go to his death with barely a whimper. Seemed a damn shame. He’d enjoyed living. Sure, it was a shitshow at times and he seemed to chase death more often than not, but he’d always expected to go down with a gun in his hand. Blood and battle, sending him off in glory.

Instead he’d hang; dragged out by a set of guards, the priest splashing him with holy water, the noose rough around his neck. Unpleasant way to go.

There was no reason to expect a saviour. The few friends he had were scattered to the wind, unlikely to even know he was here, let alone in a position to come to his aid. His life was as good as done. His last moments a long and lonely night, as the moon drifted away from view and his regrets jostled for position in his mind.

Time crawled on and the moon was gone, leaving only the dark sky and scattered stars.

McCree fought the exhaustion that crept through his mind like a black cloud, wanting to experience every last second of life, even if there was only the prison, himself and the window. And then footsteps - slowly marching towards his door, the fire from the torch casting large shadows that danced along the stone. 

He found the strength to turn his head towards the iron-bar door of his cell, to watch as the guard appeared, silently checking on the dangerous prisoner. The man said nothing, only spat. It never came close to McCree but that hadn’t been the point, instead the slimy spit glimmered in the torchlight as it slid down one of the bars.

At least glad for the distraction, McCree managed a chuckle. It was little more than a wheeze but the intent came across and the guard balked and placed his hand warily against his sword, as if expecting McCree of faking his inability to move. He’d just been waiting for this exact moment to make his daring escape. But McCree didn’t move a muscle and the guard relaxed, retreating back down the hall.

There was an unexpected noise.

A thud and clatter. 

The heavy sound of a body hitting the floor, loose limbed, never trying to catch themselves. It was a sound he knew well. He strained to hear more, fully awake now, watching the barred door like a hawk, eyes straining for more details in the near dark. Black smoke, filled with more purpose than smoke ever should drifted in through the bars. He followed its progress, rolling his head back forward.

It formed before him, gathering in mass until the shape of a man stood at the base of his boots. A familiar figure; thick thighs stretched over with tight leather, the blood red cape, the barrel chest. An imposing figure. McCree could feel the other’s gaze, despite the bone mask that covered his features. He licked his lips, his unease deep in his belly. He was completely vulnerable, unable to move a muscle to protect himself. It was an unfamiliar and unsettling reality. 

It’s voice was a harsh, deep rasp that came from everywhere but the skull mask, tinged with wry amusement. “ And here I thought humans loved you.”

McCree grinned and wheezed another laugh. “Turns out they don’t like it much when you tell ‘em to stop burnin’ witches.” He would have shrugged but the motion wasn’t an ability he currently possessed, so he raised an eyebrow instead. “Might’a had to shoot a few folks. Didn’t think they’d take it so hard.”

“How ungrateful of them.”

They had loved him once, when he’d been fresh from completing his training, a hunter from the Van Helsing Order, sent to purge evil from the land. Turned out things weren’t that simple and a pack of werewolves living peacefully in the forest or a witch helping the village women survive childbirth were often worth protecting more so than any human. 

“Yeah, well, that’s life, ain’t it?”

“And death.”

“You’d know more ’bout that than me.”

The creature across from him hummed in acknowledgement and McCree had to wonder why he was even here. They were old foes. _Vampire_ : the word sent a chill down nearly every spine. _Dracula_ : the worst of them all, the undead Lord, unstoppable, ferocious. Even just existing he gave off an aura of dark menace; enough to make McCree sweat and his toes curl. They’d clashed before, both taken their fair share of blood. 

If he was here to take what was due, at least it was better than hanging.

“So you just here for a howdy-do?” He asked, the _or_ was implied and hung heavy in the air between them. McCree might as well have sliced a finger across his neck to demonstrate the point. 

“It would be a shame to end our acquaintance so prematurely,” the vampire said.

“Well, we’ve got ‘bout three hours bondin’ time before dawn.” McCree joked; hope was a traitorous creature in his chest, at war with the fear that coiled dark and urgent, reminding of their previous encounters.

He received a thoughtful hum in response. 

The silence that followed was heavy and unwanted, pinned like a butterfly under a stare he couldn’t see. He dropped words into it to break it up, “so what’s your favourite colour?” 

The vampire moved closer, his footsteps made no sound.

It wouldn’t be the first time McCree had been bitten by a vampire but the last time he’d had to hack the fledgelings head off by the neck just to make it let go. Not his favourite experience. If he recalled correctly, and he knew he was, that had been one the Dracula’s underlings.

“Your blood reeks,” the vampire rasped as he crouched down beside McCree. 

“Yeah,” McCree huffed. “They got me good.”

That white mask moved closer. “You’re scared,” the vampire murmured.

McCree swallowed around the lump in his throat, his fear a slick darkness in his belly. He felt ill with it, wanted to vomit up his own terror just to be free of it. Death was here, the Reaper had come to collect, and he realised he wasn’t ready at all. Not like this. His fingers twitched against the cold stone, his hand responding to his heightened emotions but moving like molasses. Not enough to save himself.

“You’re right,” the monster hissed at his side, “I _should_ kill you.” A gloved finger traced the line of McCree’s neck, just firm enough to be a threat. “It would save me a lot of trouble.” 

The glove was removed, the other hand tugging the leather free by the fingertips first, until it was eased away to reveal a scarred hand, the skin dark. Fingers flexed, in and out, before finally curling into a fist. McCree shifted his head to watch, waiting for the blow. Instead smoke poured out of the offered wrist, curling away in a thin line, flesh opening in its wake. Black blood oozed lazily from the new wound, thick and sticky.

The only tell of McCree’s quick burst of panic was the rolling of his eyes, too much white that stood out clear in the moonlight, and his right foot lifting just barely off the ground before his heel of his boot thudded back. His breath wheezed in, fighting the invisible weight that was dragging him down. No doubt the vampire could hear his heartbeat, could smell the pungent fear sweat, and feel the very blood rushing through his veins like a siren song.

“Enough,” the vampire ordered. “You think I wish to turn you?” His bloodied wrist was close to McCree’s mouth and he tried to turn his head away, only to have an iron grasp take hold of his hair and keep him firmly in place as the dark wound was placed against his lips. “Stop being foolish. You know how this works.”

It was true. McCree couldn’t be turned without a bite that had drained most of his life. There were rules. 

“Drink,” Reaper ordered.

McCree made a disgruntled sound of dissent.

“If you would like to be able to move before sunrise - drink!” 

The last word was a growl that rumbled through McCree from tip to toe and he finally parted his lips, hesitantly licking his tongue through the part to gather up some blood. He withdrew his tongue slowly, feeling that hot and sticky liquid and unable to do anything but hold his tongue awkwardly curled inside his mouth until the vampire gave an impatient tug to his hair.

McCree swallowed.

Sweet.

It tasted sweet.

Like honey.

He tried more. It tingled all the way down his throat. He pursed his lips around the cut, the metallic scent of blood and death filling his nose as he began to suck, tentatively at first and then in earnest. The blood didn’t come easily, he had to drag it from the vampire’s veins until it dribbled into his mouth where he could swirl that bright taste across his tongue and swallow it down.

The hand on his head moved to his neck, gloved fingers kneading the muscle, massaging encouragingly. McCree groaned around the Reaper’s wrist, the sound earning a soft hiss in reply and a tightened grip.

Somewhere in the back of his mind alarm bells were ringing, his mentor was there, the old hunter going over vampire lore in exhaustive details; of the power in blood, how the ancient vampires bound their thralls to them. McCree knew but he didn’t care. The honey-blood was bright and bubbly in his belly, spreading out to every limb.

He grabbed hold of the vampire’s arm with both hands, no thought in the action that had previously been impossible. He bent over the open wound, blood seeping out the corners of his mouth as he continued to drink, like a parched man in a desert. The thirst was all-consuming. He lost himself, his name, his vocation, his beliefs. 

It was a thumb at the corner of his lips, pressing in rough and curling into the sensitive skin of his mouth that finally tugged him away. McCree panting quick and loud, held on tight, unwilling to give up his prize but the arm in his grasp was suddenly no longer there. Only smoke, billowing around his head. Reforming further away, near the window. A man again, or at least the dark parody of one.

“Fuck,” McCree swore, scrambling upright, some semblance of sense and self-preservation returning as he pushed himself into a mostly standing position using the wall as an anchor behind him. He swiped his hand across the back of his mouth, it came away streaked with black. He fought the urge to lick it up, hand to drag it down the side of his pants just to stop himself from savouring the last taste. 

The vampire regarded him steadily, his hand was held out. It opened and then closed. The key for the door pinged as it hit the floor and bounced once, twice, three times before coming to halt. 

“Orange,” he said.

One word spoken before the vampire was gone. A black shadow that drifted out the window to freedom, leaving McCree confused and alone, his heart thundering in his chest and his pants uncomfortably tight. It took time for his limbs to respond, not because of any drugs but because they kept tingling, every movement another jolt of electricity up his spine.

Eventually he stumbled forward, awkwardly scraping the key off the floor.

“Orange,” he repeated, croaked the word out - and then it hit him. 

He had to crouch as the laughter rolled through him in waves. Not red, or black. Orange. Jesse McCree, one of the finest hunters the Van Helsing Order had ever produced, laughed himself to tears in his cold jail cell. He could still taste the vampire’s sweet blood in the back of his throat, singing to him, calling him. Reaper had come to free him and instead he’d put the proverbial noose securely around his neck. He would never be free of this. 

McCree would have to chase him now, follow that taste to the end of the earth, into whatever dark crypt Dracula called home. Then he’d have to thank him somehow, with either a stake to the heart - or something else, something better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree comes to Reaper's aid to return the favour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice that there is now a third chapter in the works. Turns out I'm real weak for vampire Gabe and I hope you are too!
> 
> Anyway, here's the smut I promised! 8D

The wound in his side wasn’t deep but it was bleeding fiercely, spilling over his gloved hand where it was clamped down to stem the tide. His assailant was dead, a pile of ashes left behind as he continued down the long and narrow stone corridor. Lucky hit. He had thought he’d cleared out all the lesser ghouls but this one had been smarter than the others, had been waiting for his guard to drop as he made his final march to their Master’s lair. 

The torches on the walls crackled and spluttered as he passed by, the shadows dancing, tricking his mind into believing there was something else ready to strike and keeping his nerves at a razor’s edge. He was used to this, fear warped into strength, the adrenaline that kept his mind in high alert as he followed the ceaseless need that called to his blood even as it leaked from his body.

As the end of the hallway loomed, McCree removed his hand from his side and took his gun up. There was no time for dawdling or stopping to patch himself up. He wasn’t sure he could have convinced his feet to even stay still. It was like there was a fish hook in his belly, drawing him in and fighting it now only made the ache that much worse. 

The hunter walked and found himself in the entrance to a great hall, the very bowels of the castle. His steps echoed, announcing his presence as he warily peeled away from the safety of the hallway and into the vast space. Each pillar that supported the ceiling held another torch but there was enough darkness to hide many a foe and he moved warily, knowing that there was going to be something out there that was scenting his blood. 

“He said you would come.”

It was a woman’s voice, accented and amused, that came to him from every direction. McCree’s finger curled closer on his trigger, his stance shifting to be more solid. His mechanical arm was held loose at his side, glowing with the ethereal light that kept it functioning. He knew that voice. Thought he’d heard it for the last time but The Witch of the Wilds was a slippery beast and he should have know she’d show up again. For revenge? He could only presume that was the case.

“Did he?” McCree answered, a mindless question as he searched for her in the great expanse of the hall. 

“Indeed.” The witch chuckled. “Though he was somewhat unwilling to be of assistance.” 

“Sounds ‘bout right,” McCree said as he moved further along, angling himself to glance behind each pillar, following that constant fish hook. So close.

“I did not realize you were so well acquainted.”

They weren’t. Not really. Not in the right way. But McCree’s dreams had been filled with blood. Ever since he’d drunk from Reaper, he’d woken up from every sleep with the taste of it on his tongue. Sometimes he caught snatches of _something_ , feelings that weren’t his own, a lust under his skin that made him tremble.

“You plannin’ on coming out to play or you just after a chat?”

He was baiting her, trying to get her to show her hand but she only laughed at him.

“Perhaps another day.” There was a smugness to her tone that he hated and if given the chance he wouldn’t have hesitated to pull the trigger in her face. “Consider yourself lucky, fair hunter. I am feeling magnanimous.”

“Mighty generous of you,” he drawled as the far end of the room came into sight, barely lit, where a darker figure was sprawled against the wall. As McCree walked along, splashes of viscous blood were revealed, a trail leading the way. His heart thundered in his throat. 

“When the time comes, I expect you will remember how merciful I was,” was the last thing the witch called to him, her voice a faint echo that slithered into his ears like poison. There was a dark promise there. This wouldn’t be the last of her. 

He couldn’t spare her much further thought, not as his focus zeroed in on the body.

His heartbeat felt louder than his footsteps.

Too much sound.

A rushing in his ears.

The Vampire Lord had been abandoned like a broken doll, limbs askew with great gashes across his chest that had oozed slow and steady until he was sitting in a small pool. Just the sight of it made McCree’s mouth water and his own reaction horrified him enough that he came to a jerky halt, breathing heavily. 

The figure groaned softly, a trail of smoke curling upwards. The bottom of the mask had broken away, revealing part of a strong jaw lined with facial hair and parted lips. 

“You came.”

McCree barely caught the words, they gurgled out, clearly impeded by blood. 

“Yeah,” McCree replied, urging himself forward. “I did.” He studied the vampire, halfheartedly trying to find some other way while knowing there wouldn’t be one. “Gotta return the favour.”

He didn’t want to be this eager to debase himself, to be used, and yet here he was sliding his gun back into his holster and chomping at the bit to get started. “She sure did a number on you,” he said, conversational as he walked himself forward until his legs straddled the Reaper’s thighs.

The blood squished beneath his boots. How had he ever thought it smelled like death and iron? This was honey and joy and belonging. It was taking every ounce of strength he had not to dip his head to the stone and lick up the thick molasses blood.

McCree slid his gun into its holster and lowered himself down slowly, knees to the ground, crouched above the fallen vampire. He hesitated. “How do we...?” He licked his lips and reached up, plucking his hat off his head and tossing it aside. His fingers tugged at his collar, pulling it down to reveal his neck, pulsing with eager life. 

The vampire groaned again, deeper this time, head lolling.

“The mask,” he grunted.

Hooking his fingers tentatively beneath the cracked edge, McCree tugged the mask away. It came off with unnatural ease, wisps of shadows helping it slide where it shouldn’t have been able to. Then it was gone, dropped to the wayside, a face looking back at him that he never would have expected.

The dreaded Dracula had the appearance of a handsome man, scarred lines on his cheeks, his dark skin paled by his agony and blood loss. Thick dark hair fell in waves around his face, a surprising addition, a welcome sight, something Jesse hadn’t realised he’d wanted until now. The look in his eyes was hunger and need, pain and wanting but so very old and patient, as if he was being stared at by an ancient beast. His lips parted, revealing the sharp teeth that would break through the skin, the tip of his tongue flicking out like a reptile tasting the air.

“Bet I smell pretty good now, huh?” Jesse teased, trying to keep some sense of control, feeling that gaze on his throat.

Reaper bared his fangs in response, the teeth stained black with his blood. “If you do this,” the words came out rough, unwilling, “you will belong to me.”

McCree leaned forward, muscles in his abdomen tensed tightly as he tilted his head to bare his neck in offering. 

There were ten major rules that one learned when training to become a hunter. Rules that became second nature, that you obeyed without question. They were there to keep you alive. One of them was to never willingly let a vampire feed from you. A simple rule. McCree had never thought he’d be brought to this point, where his natural instinct was wiped away by desire.  
He was going against a decade of training and he had no regrets. He _wanted_. 

“Yeah,” he said, “I know.”

The vampire bit down, the pain immediate and overwhelming. McCree went to pull back in a panic but the fangs were lodged deep and he had to overcome his fear with quick, short breaths. The first real suck made his entire body shudder, hyper-aware of the sensation of his blood rushing out of him, pulled forcefully. _It’s fine, you’re fine, don’t struggle_.

A hand gripped at his knee, the pressure weak at first but growing stronger as the vampire continued to drink. The fingers kneaded like a kitten feeding from its mother. 

The shift was subtle. It happened gradually, with a warmth that built steadily in his belly. McCree was barely aware that Reaper had slowed down, too focused on his heart beating rabbit-quick in his chest and the rushing in his head. His hands were clamped down hard on Reaper’s hips, shoulders hunched and back muscles tensed. The mantra in his mind repeated over and over until it stuttered to a stop at the flicker of a tongue.

Reaper’s tongue dragged across the bite mark he had made and McCree shuddered. He wasn't expecting the nuzzle, the hot breath against his skin, the nose tucked up under his ear. The hand on his knee had been drifting upwards, the fingers now curled into his inner thigh. 

“I want you to say my name,” the vampire murmured, his voice smooth and intimate. “Say my name and seal our bond.”

“I don't-” _know your name_ , the words stuck in his throat before he could finish them. There was a presence in his mind, a familiar weight that whispered the truth.

“Gabriel,” Jesse McCree gasped.

The gentle suck that followed shot right down to his belly, made him groan with sudden and startling want. Gabriel hummed his approval.

His body was healing already, McCree could hear it if he listened closely. Soft cracking and squelching as the body used the blood it had consumed to set itself to rights. Dark smoke drifted around them, filling gaps, resetting bones. Then it was done and the moment Reaper was whole, McCree was on his back.

He struggled immediately, heels of his boots scraping against the ground, trying to find leverage to roll them over. But Gabriel held him down effortlessly, bringing his rebellion to an end with a forceful, bruising kiss that Jesse arched into with as just as much energy he’d put into trying to get away. Sharp teeth cut his lip and a quick tongue flicked the blood away before claiming his mouth, filling it with the taste of his own blood.

The vampire pulled back, mouth stained and smile bright with red. 

“We must be careful,” Gabriel said as he moved down Jesse’s body. “I like you human.” He found the wound on McCree’s side and nuzzled into it, lapped at the ragged cut until the dull pain was a tingle.

“Yeah,” McCree agreed, breathless, hurriedly pulling his glove off so he could sink his hand into Gabriel’s hair, delighting in how smooth and thick it felt. “Real careful.”

Gabriel’s own gloves were gone, the last hint of them just drifting dark smoke. “I can’t,” he said between licks, “let you... drink from me... this time.”

McCree groaned in disappointment.

“I know,” the vampire cooed, undoing belts with nimble fingers, finding his way with certainty until his hand splayed cold against McCree’s abandon. Goosebumps rippled across his skin, reacting to the touch. “We can save that for later.”

McCree angled himself onto his elbow and spread his legs wider in invitation. 

He was lightheaded and overheated, craving touch more than the thick blood that had driven him here. “How’re you gonna make it up me now?” He asked, fingers stroking at Reaper’s hair. “Saved yer life y’know.”

Gabriel looked up at him, along the length of his body and gave a vicious grin, all teeth. His hand slid lower, found what it was looking for when McCree cursed and jolted, hips leaping into the air as cool fingers wrapped around him. 

“Yes, you were very _useful_.” He squeezed hard.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” McCree gasped, nearly falling back from the sensation that rolled it's up his spine. He’d never been this hard in his entire goddamn life. 

A little tug and adjustment had his cock out in the air, standing proud and eager, the tip flushed with blood. The tip was already wet, beaded precum, pearly white. So very white when swept up by a finger and brought to Gabriel’s tongue. He hummed appreciably at the taste and McCree lost control of his limbs, flopping back, head hitting the stone ground painfully. 

Eyes squeezed shut, he tried not to cum immediately. He dragged deep breaths in, black spots behind his eyes, the graze of sharp teeth against the sensitive skin of his cock nearly breaking him.

“Fuck, fuck - oh fuck. Are you gonna? Please, fuck.” 

Bite his dick. 

He never thought he’d want someone to suck blood out of his dick but he sure as hell fucking wanted it now. 

Gabriel laughed at him and nuzzled down his length, teased his way to McCree’s inner thigh - and there he bit, deep. Blood gushed hot and free, gathered up by Gabriel’s tongue and hand before he sealed his lips over the bite and stopped the flow with the press of his tongue. His hand was hot and slick when it wrapped around McCree’s cock.

Rolling his hips up into the touch, McCree did his best to fuck into that hand with shallow movements. Gabriel didn’t try to stop him, just let him continue until he exhausted himself and huffed in frustration at the lack of friction. “C’mon.”

Gabriel sucked on the bite, the feeling bright and hot, an explosion that rolled up McCree’s cock. Then the hand moved, sliding along the thick length, eased by the blood. His thumb hooked under his foreskin, teased, then slid back down to the base. 

The sharp tips of McCree’s metal hand scraped loudly against the stone as his back arched up and he gave a sharp, desperate groan. Another suck and he bucked again, was quickly quietened by a hand against his thigh and a thumb rubbing with a gentle, maddening pace against the underside of his dick.

“You taste,” Gabriel groaned, his lips moving against McCree’s bloody thigh, “ _perfect_.”

All of McCree’s focus was on the feel of Gabriel’s hands, his mouth, his lapping tongue. His head spun with desire, ready for relief, ready to tip over that edge, now, _now, please, let me_.

“Quiet,” Gabriel murmured, and McCree wasn’t sure if he had been speaking aloud or if he didn’t even need to anymore because they were so close, he could feel Gabriel under his skin, inside his body, seeping in, his emotions an echo of want. Too much. It was too much. His heart hammered in his chest, wild, struggling. He was shivering, his entire body out of control, temperature plummeting dangerously. 

And the vampire knew exactly when the time was right, when he stroked upwards and McCree turned his cheek to the stone with a wounded sound. That was when Gabriel wrapped his mouth around McCree’s cock, teased along the edge of his teeth, a sharp little warning as he sunk down. 

Engulfed in warmth and danger, McCree was overwhelmed.

He barely made a sound as he came, just whined and shuddered, his limbs twitching and mouth hanging open. _Rest now_ , a voice that wasn’t his whispered in the back of his mind, and darkness took him gently down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me if you liked it! Don't tell me if you didn't! Cheers! ;D


End file.
